Remembering Budapest
by Kristen Elizabeth
Summary: Everything changed in Budapest, but nothing changed at all. Black Widow/Hawkeye
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me.

Author's Notes: If you haven't seen_ The Avengers_ yet, drop what you're doing and get to the movie theatre. I haven't written fan fic in months, but the movie totally inspired me.

* * *

Remembering Budapest

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_"You and I remember Budapest very differently..." - Hawkeye_

* * *

She barely touched her shawarma. In fact, she only took a few bites before she pushed it across the table to Thor who happily finished it for her. Although he said nothing...no one was really in a mood to talk...Clint Barton wasn't at all surprised by Natasha's lack of an appetite.

They had all been pushed to their limits and with the possible exception of the demi-god chowing down on Nat's sandwich, they had all entered a previously unknown realm of exhaustion.

Every muscle in Clint's body ached, to say nothing of the growing lump on his forehead where Nat had forcibly driven Loki out of his mind. He wanted to sleep for a week. Hell, he wanted Tony Stark to drop him off on his private island (he was pretty sure the man had to own at least one) and let him sleep on the beach for a week.

Yet, as great as sleep sounded, be it under the shade of a palm tree or just in his own bed in his very modest apartment, Clint instinctively knew that the last thing he needed or wanted was to be alone. He had just helped save the world, but before that he had been possessed by a vengeful god of chaos and forced to fight his friend and colleagues.

He either needed to get very drunk and work it out by himself or he needed to talk to someone who could help him deal with all of it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Natasha. There was a cut on her forehead, caked with dried blood. Her unblinking, blank stare was fixed on her empty plate. Clint was just about to reach out, to touch her arm, to bring her back from whatever horrible place her mind had wandered to, when Tony Stark broke the silence.

"So." The man glanced around the table. "What's the verdict?"

"On the shawarma?" Dr. Bruce Banner nodded mildly. "It was okay."

"Glorious meat," Thor said around a huge mouthful.

Captain Steven Rogers lifted one muscled shoulder. "Better than Army rations."

"I've had worse," Clint agreed.

Stark's gaze swung to Natasha. "Miss Romanoff?"

Still, she didn't look up, as if his question didn't warrant her full attention. "Were you only asking about the food?"

Stark leaned back in his chair with a grin. "I knew I hired you for a reason."

"You didn't hire me; I was placed at your company," Natasha reminded him. "You could never afford me."

Clint hid a proud smile as Stark pitched forward, putting his elbows on the table like a child eager to share an idea. "She's right, you know. I wasn't asking about the food; the food's great. Fantastic, even." He looked around again before continuing, "What's the verdict on us?"

"The Avenger Initiative?" Rogers clarified. "Seems to have worked out fairly well."

"In this one instance." Dr. Banner stabbed his fork through a loose shaving of meat. "But who's to say what will happen in the future."

"I must return to Asgard." All eyes turned to Thor as his focus shifted away from the meal and back to the lingering problem of Loki. "With the Tesseract...and my brother."

Banner nodded as he chewed. "See what I mean?"

"Will you come back?" Natasha asked in a soft tone that bothered Clint. He had no problem competing with another man, but he wasn't sure how he compared to a demi-god.

"That is my hope," Thor replied. "Yet it will take time to ensure that Loki will never again threaten the safety of our two worlds."

"When you do come back, and you will come back because I've seen the girl you left behind and you'd be an idiot not to see where that goes," Stark paused for a breath, "do you want to be a part of our super special secret club?"

Thor was quiet for a second. "I will fight with you again." He looked at each of them. "With all of you."

"We'll be here." Rogers held out his hand and waited for Thor to shake it.

Clint could feel Stark's curious gaze swing to him. "What about you two?"

"Count me in," Clint said, "but Nat speaks for herself."

Stark pointed back and forth between them. "I thought you two were a matching set."

"You thought wrong." Natasha's words were as sharp as daggers. With one fluid motion, she pushed her chair back and stood up. "Thank you for dinner, Mr. Stark. If you'll excuse me..."

The men watched her go; Clint didn't blame them. How many times had he enjoyed watching Nat walk away? But right then, knowing that four other men had their eyes glued to her shapely backside bothered the hell out of him.

Clint shot to his feet. "We'll be in touch," he told them as he raced to catch up with her.

"Well," Stark said once they were gone, "that explains a lot."

"Turned you down, did she?" Banner snorted.

"Officially, I never asked."

Rogers frowned. "Did I miss something?"

"Seventy years of something. But don't worry, Cap." Stark grinned. "We'll find someone to help you make up for lost time."

* * *

The night air was filled with concrete dust and smoke, but Natasha couldn't blame either factor for the moisture gathering in the corners of her eyes. The past few days had tested her, mind, body and soul. As much as she hated to admit it, Loki had gotten to her. Not with his words or his mind tricks, but in a much more personal way.

Clint.

She could feel him following her through the ruined city streets even if she couldn't hear him or see him. Just knowing that he was there, that he knew her well enough to keep his distance until she was ready to talk, made the tears tumble down her cheeks. Although no one could see her in the dark, she quickly wiped them away, erasing all evidence that her emotions had gotten the better of her.

There was a single intact street lamp and Natasha stopped within its flickering circle of light. Turning around, she faced the shadows where she knew Clint was hiding.

"What did you mean earlier?" she asked, her voice echoing off the massive piles of twisted rubble that had once been soaring buildings.

Clint moved into the light, just enough so that she could see his face. "What are you talking about?"

She folded her arms over her chest. "Earlier. In the middle of the fight. I said it was like Budapest all over again, and you said..."

"I know what I said," he quietly cut her off. Natasha watched him take a few steps towards her. "It was nothing."

"It didn't seem like nothing."

With a rueful smile, Clint shook his head as he turned his head away. "Don't worry about it, Nat. I don't."

"Worry about what?" Her heart felt heavy, but she had no idea why. "Clint?" He looked back at her. "Budapest?"

"Budapest," he repeated. Another second passed. "Remember what happened there?"

She ignored the shiver that ran down her spine. "The mission? Of course I remember it."

"No. Not the mission." Clint stared at her in disbelief. "All this time I thought..." He paused. "But you really don't remember, do you?"

"If you've been hiding something that happened on that mission..." Natasha let the unspoken threat hang in the air between them. "You owe me the truth, Clint."

"Do I?" Another few steps and he was right in front of her, so close that she could smell his clean sweat scent. "And what if you're not ready to deal with that truth?"

"I closed a portal to another dimension today." Her eyes locked with his. "I can handle anything you've got."

The corner of his mouth turned up. "I hope so, Nat. I really do."

Before she could say anything else, Clint cupped her face in his strong hands and kissed her.

* * *

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me.

Author's Notes: Thank you so much for all of your enthusiasm about the first chapter! I am very, very relieved to see I wasn't the only one who walked out of the movie with this pairing on my mind;)

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Remembering Budapest

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_Budapest, Hungary_

_March 2010_

Although the breeze coming off the Danube River was chilly, the Promenade was crowded with tourists and the local population. The woman sitting alone at the cafe was neither. Although she had a cup of coffee and a piece of _kifli_ in front of her, she wasn't eating or drinking. At the moment, she was just waiting.

"If you're not going to eat that, I will."

From his perch on top of the spires of St. Stephen's Basilica, Clint couldn't help but grin as he watched Natasha reach up to touch her ear and the tiny communication device hidden within it. He had startled her after such a long period of radio silence, but like a true agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., she didn't let it show on her beautiful face.

His smile turned into a laugh as she picked up her sugar-dusted treat and took a big bite.

"Better," he said, still chuckling. "How is it?"

"Annoyingly sweet," she replied after she'd swallowed, barely moving her lips to avoid drawing any attention. "How's the view?"

"Unparalleled. Want to join me?"

She ignored the request. "You'll only have one shot at him, Hawk. Eye on the prize."

Although it was necessary over the radio, Clint never liked it when she used his code name. He much preferred the rare times when his real name was on her lips. "Always, Widow."

Suddenly, the wind picked up, rushing across his earpiece with such a force that it drowned out her reply. It was only when the breeze died down that he heard her. "...repeat, the package is in the open."

On pure instinct, honed after so many years of training and service, Clint grabbed the appropriate arrow from his sling, loaded it up and aimed.

The package...a Hungarian arms dealer who had recently started dabbling in bio-toxins...had emerged from his hours-long luncheon at a restaurant across the promenade from Natasha's position. Surrounded by his flunkies, he walked towards a waiting town car. The door was already open for him...he was seconds away from being out of their reach forever.

Clint let the arrow fly. It should have gone straight through the man's black heart as he crawled into his car, but at the last second, the target shifted his massive body to the right in order to dig something out of his pocket...and the arrow landed in his meaty shoulder instead.

"Shit," Clint cursed as the man crumpled to the ground. All around him, his flunkies drew their weapons, frantically searching for the source of the arrow as people scattered in every direction, scrambling for safety. Only the lone woman at the cafe remained in her seat, cool and calm amidst the chaos. "Nat..."

"I'm on it," was all she said as she stood up. Reaching underneath her tight linen skirt, she withdrew a wicked semi-automatic from the holster strapped to her inner thigh. The last thing he saw before he started making his way down the side of the building was Natasha walking towards a group of armed men.

* * *

They weren't people; they were enemies. They had chosen to serve a man who valued money over human lives and were, therefore, just as guilty as him. As Natasha fired at the bodyguards surrounding the wounded arms dealer, she didn't even have to run these thoughts through the back of her mind. They were simply the truths she had come to accept in order to do her job.

Dodging bullets wasn't easy in a spandex suit, much less in a skirt and heels, but she managed avoid getting hit by seeking cover behind a nearby car. Truthfully, she felt worse about damaging an Aston Martin than she did about killing any of the dealer's guards.

When she ran out of bullets, but not out of targets, Natasha reached inside her silk blouse for another magazine. As she was loading it, she heard a scream of pain. Peeking out over the top of the car, she saw Clint take out a guard who had been creeping towards her position.

"The package?" he asked her, ducking behind the car as the guard's friends continued their assault.

Natasha cocked her freshly-loaded gun. "I said I was on it."

"Nat, wait!" But he was too late. She had already leaped to her feet and started firing. When it seemed like she had taken out everyone standing in her way, she slid across the ruined hood of the car and started towards the original target.

Natasha didn't see the gun in his hand until it was too late. He fired wildly, not even bothering to aim, but one of his bullets managed to find her. Before she could twist out of its path, it slammed into her chest.

Burning, ripping pain. She'd been shot before, but the bullets had only ever grazed her. Nothing like this. She didn't feel herself falling; the ground rushed up to meet her and she landed without any of the grace or dignity that had been bred into her since she was a child.

She heard Clint scream her name, not her code name, but her real name. Or...at least what he thought was her real name. Did it really matter? She had been Natasha for longer than she'd been anything else. Besides, she liked the way he said it. Nat. Short and sweet. Intimate.

Seconds passed like hours as she lay on the sidewalk. The blood blossoming over her breast spilling down to the concrete was warm. She tried to press her fingers to the wound to stop the flow, but it hurt to touch it. Shock was settling in and she had no energy to fight it off.

"Nat? Nat!" Blinking, Natasha saw his face suddenly appear over her. Dotted with sweat, spattered with blood...he looked frightened. For a master assassin with a body count even higher than hers, that was saying a lot. "Help is coming, Nat. I just need you to stay focused, all right? Look at me," he demanded. "Don't close your eyes, all right?"

"Package?" she whispered.

"Eliminated." He looked down at her wound, but quickly averted his eyes, like it was too much to comprehend. "We got him."

"Good." She closed her eyes for just a second. "You missed, you know."

"Yeah. Won't happen again, I promise." Natasha could see his Adam's apple bobbing above the black collar of his sleeveless uniform. "Nat...I'm so sorry."

She slowly shook her head against the concrete street. "Don't," she ordered. Her voice sounded weak, even to her own ears. "Don't do that."

Sirens. They wailed in the background, but she knew they weren't for her. To avoid risking their secrets, S.H.I.E.L.D. would be sending their own medical unit.

But where they hell were they?

"Stick around and make me," he told her.

Natasha looked up at her partner, the man she knew so well. The man who, once upon a time, had chosen to save her rather than kill her. If she was going to die, there was something she needed to know before she went.

"Clint..." She reached up to touch the sandy-brown hair at his temple. "Why didn't you kill me?"

He captured her hand, entwining his fingers with hers, like he could keep her warm. "You've never figured that out?" She only had enough energy to slightly move her head. "How about this? I'll tell you when you're back on your feet."

"Now," she murmured, her lashes fluttering as she tried to keep her eyes open. "No guarantees."

Clint's chest rose and fell rapidly as looked down at her, like he was struggling with a decision. After a moment, he sighed. "Nat, the answer is so much bigger than I can say, but you have to know one thing..." As the bliss of unconsciousness started to wash over her, she felt him lift her fingers to his lips for a kiss.

She was already lost to the dark when he whispered, "I fell in love with you."

* * *

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me.

Author's Notes: Thank you so much for the reviews and the alerts! I really hope the story keeps living up to them:)

* * *

Remembering Budapest

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

The director of S.H.I.E.L.D. found his master archer sitting outside of the Helicarrier's medical unit, his elbows on his knees and his blood-stained hands clasped together at his mouth. Barton didn't acknowledge his presence for a long time, but Nick Fury was damn sure not going to be the first to speak.

If the haunted look in the man's eyes was any indication, he was already in a hell of his own making. No need to add to it...just yet.

"Armor-piercing ammunition." Barton's voice was hoarse, like he hadn't spoken in the hours that had passed since the recovery team whisked him and Natasha out of Budapest. "We thought the bastard might have had it and we were right." His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed heavily. "Went straight through her vest."

"If I'd have known they were using it instead of just selling it..."

Barton cut him off. "You would have what? Sent someone else?"

"No." Fury watched the man with his good eye. "But I would have made her suit up better."

As he slowly sat up, Barton looked down at his hands. Natasha's blood was dry, but he stared at the stains as if they were fresh. "She did everything she was trained to do."

"And she's still alive," Fury pointed out. "So are you. The world is down one arms dealer. Where I come from, we call that a win."

"There should have been more of us."

"If you hadn't missed, you wouldn't have needed help."

Barton jumped to his feet so quickly and with such anger behind the movement that anyone else might have shrunk back from him. Fury just met his dangerous glare and held it without blinking. This wasn't the first time he'd dealt with a pissed-off assassin and it probably wouldn't be the last.

And if his long-reaching plan ever came to fruition, someday soon he'd be dealing with people who possessed far more physical strength than Clint Barton.

"Take a seat, Agent Barton," he ordered. It took almost a full minute, but eventually the man called Hawkeye sank back down onto the low bench. "You think you're the first one of us to have a partner go down in the field?"

Barton crossed his muscled arms. "Didn't say that."

"So...what? You figure if you blame yourself enough, it'll help heal that bullet hole in her chest?"

When the man looked away in agony, the last piece of the puzzle fell into place, but before Fury could say anything, one of the medics stepped out into the hallway.

"Director Fury," the man saluted. "Agent Barton. She's waking up."

Barton scrambled to his feet, but Fury held up his hand to stop him. "Hold on," he said. "There's something I need to tell you."

* * *

Her mouth felt like a desert, but the medics would only give her a few measly ice chips. It was the pain meds, they claimed, that were causing the dryness, but her body wasn't ready for food or drink just yet. It was hard to argue the point. Even just swallowing the tiny amount of liquid from the ice took all the strength she had.

She was lucky to be alive. Natasha could see it in the medics' faces from the moment she clawed her way out of the darkness. Even with the best medical care in the world, her recovery hadn't been guaranteed. Although she lived with the possibility of death every day, it had never gotten so close before.

Closing her eyes, she could still feel the bullet slamming into her body through a layer of silk and the thin layer of kevlar she'd worn beneath it. But when she tried to remember what had happened next, all she got was flashes. Red blood. Blue sky. Stormy eyes.

"Agent Romanoff?"

Natasha lifted her lashes at the sound of the director's voice. He was standing a few inches away from her bed, looking down at her like she was a curiosity in a museum.

"Tell me you're not here with a mission."

The corner of Nick Fury's mouth twitched. "When you're up to it. Tomorrow, maybe."

She nodded as much as she could; each word she spoke made her chest burn. "How did we leave things?"

"Well, you and Barton pretty much took out the bulk of the Asztalos arms ring, including Jozsef Asztalos himself, so I'm not complaining." He took a step towards her. "Next time, though, when something goes wrong, think about waiting for back-up."

"I had back-up," she reminded him. "Where is he?"

A second passed. "Agent Barton's been temporarily reassigned. He'll be working at the New Mexico complex with Agent Coulson for the next year or so."

She was too well-trained to show any emotion at this information. Agents were reassigned all the time; it was a wonder that she and Clint had been partners for as long as they had been. Still, Natasha couldn't shake the feeling that they were both being punished.

"Has he already left?" Her voice sounded small even to her own ears.

"Tonight," Fury replied. "He's being debriefed on the Budapest incident right now."

"This wasn't his fault," Natasha told him. "I started a fire-fight in the middle of the promenade. I should be the one you send away, not Clint."

"The only mission you have for the foreseeable future is to recuperate as fast as possible." The director took a step back. "I'm going to need you soon, Natasha. Don't let me down."

When he was gone, a medic stopped by with some ice chips and a hypodermic needle full of a medicine that sent her right back into the arms of unconsciousness.

* * *

Even though he'd taken a shower and changed his uniform, whenever Clint looked at his hands, he still saw Natasha's blood. Maybe he always would. He doubted that even being sent thousands of miles away from her would make him forget that he'd nearly gotten her killed.

The jet that would take him to New Mexico was scheduled to leave within the hour. His one bag was already packed, not with mementos or personal trinkets, but with the tools of his trade. He'd even included the stained uniform he'd been wearing when he'd carried Natasha's lifeless body to the helicopter that had lifted them out of Budapest.

Nick Fury might have been able to keep him busy for his last few hours on the ship, but the man had never expressly forbidden Clint from seeing Natasha before he left. It might very well be the last time he saw her for a long time. Not one to waste an opportunity, he slipped out of his empty quarters and made his way back to the medical bay.

The guard on duty was a friend; he let Clint into the recovery ward without hesitation. As most of the medics were off for the night, the room was quiet, save for the soft sound of Natasha breathing.

It was a beautiful sound, maybe one of the most beautiful he'd ever heard. She was alive. She was safe. He hadn't ruined everything he loved.

Clint approached her bed and smiled at the sight of her flaming red locks against the starched white pillow. Reaching down, he touched one silky curl, gently stroking it.

Her eyes flew open at the contact, but when she instinctively tried to grab his wrist, she cried out in pain.

"Nat! It's me...it's just me!" Her heart monitor was going wild and Clint could have killed himself. What had he been thinking, sneaking up on her when she couldn't defend herself? "I'm sorry, Nat. I'm so sorry."

Her eyes were wet with unshed tears, a testament to just how much he'd managed to hurt her with his carelessness. "Clint?" she wheezed. "What are you...what are you doing?"

"I just..." He searched for the right words. "I needed to see you before I left. They're reassigning me. New Mexico."

"I heard." She blinked a couple of times as her heart rate slowed down. "It's my fault."

Clint shook his head. "No, Nat. Not at all. It was me. I fucked up. I missed the shot."

"It happens." Natasha ran her tongue over her bottom lip. "I messed up, too. Didn't wait for you...just went for the bastard."

He was quiet for a second. "You remember, then?"

"I remember this." She weakly gestured to the large bandage peeking out from the blanket that covered her body. He swallowed. Inadequately covered her body, he should have said. He could see every line, every curve, every fantasy he'd had for the past five years. "It's not something you forget."

Clint nodded in agreement. "And after?" He hesitated. "Do you remember what happened after?"

She looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

It was impossible to read her face sometimes, the downfall of loving a woman who had been trained to be emotionless, but she didn't seem confused, like she was trying to remember, but couldn't.

In fact, he had seen this look on her before when they'd been caught trying to sneak sensitive government files out of Macau. She'd given their interrogators this same blank look in response to their questions while he worked to undo his restraints.

It was better, he told himself, that his ridiculous declaration of love went ignored. What had he expected would happen? She would wake up and announce that she loved him, too? Then what? They would get married and have babies and live a so-called normal life?

No, it was definitely better this way. Their lives had never been and would never be normal. And while the sex would have been incredible, partners who cared too much about each other were a liability to everyone around them.

She'd made the right call and now it was his turn.

"Nothing," he finally said. "It doesn't matter now." With one hand braced on the metal frame of the bed, he leaned over and pressed his lips to her forehead. They lingered there for a second before he could force himself to draw back. If he'd looked down at her, he would have seen that her eyes were closed as she savored the moment.

But he'd already pushed away from her, his eyes on the bare wall. It made it easier to walk away.

"Take care of yourself," he told her when he reached the door. "And look out for whatever idiot you get stuck with while I'm gone."

"Clint." Hearing his name on her lips made him stop in his tracks. Instead of turning all the way around, he angled his head just enough to acknowledge her. "Stay in touch?"

He smiled ruefully as he pulled the door open. "No guarantees, Nat."

* * *

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me.

Author's Notes: Thank you so much, everyone! I know a lot of you have signed up for story alert and I hope you're getting these updates. I think something might be wrong with ; I haven't gotten an alert over 48 hours.

* * *

Remembering Budapest

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_Los Angeles_

_May 2011_

"He's an arrogant, hyper-sexual bastard." Sitting on the balcony of her hotel room in the dying light of another California day, Natasha added, "And if he hadn't just made his former secretary the new CEO of his company, I'd be tempted to add 'misogynist' to that description."

On the screen of her laptop, Clint chuckled. "I watched his Expo entrance the other night. Not exactly what I'd call subtle."

"There is nothing understated about Tony Stark," she agreed. "I don't know what Fury is thinking, trying to bring him on board."

"He must have a plan."

"Working with Stark is like trying to give orders to a cat." She shook her head; the dark red waves of her hair brushed against her bare shoulders. Except for the occasional trim, she hadn't taken a scissors to it since Budapest. "It'll never work. He's not a team player. He's a rogue element with a massive superiority complex. There's no telling what he would do in a combat situation, but I promise you it wouldn't be what he was told to do. In fact, it would probably be the opposite."

Clint was quiet for a second. "You like him."

She frowned. "I just spent the past five minutes telling you how much I don't like him."

"I know."

Unconsciously, Natasha slipped her fingers underneath the neckline of her dress and touched the small, round scar that she would carry for the rest of her life. "You've been spending too much time in the desert heat," she informed him.

He smiled briefly. "Can't argue with that." Another moment passed. "So, you're all dressed up. Heading to a Stark Industries function?"

"In a manner of speaking." Natasha lowered her hand. "It's his birthday; I've been asked to help him get ready for his party."

"Isn't that a little out of your fake job description?"

The edge in his voice caught her off guard. In all the years she had known Clint Barton, she had never once seen him lose his cool, not even in Budapest. If she didn't know better, she would have concluded that he was jealous of Stark.

It had to be a male ego thing. Stark, for all of his many personality flaws, was still a billionaire superhero who was, she had to grudgingly admit, very easy on the eyes. Although it went against everything she knew about Clint, she had to conclude that he was feeling a little inferior.

There was only one other explanation that made sense, but it wasn't something she was ready to contemplate just yet.

"My real job is to evaluate him. There are no business hours for that, Clint."

"Just...watch your back," he advised her. "Especially if he's only interested in watching it for the view."

"Since when do I need anyone to watch my back?" Natasha leaned forward, unknowingly displaying more cleavage than she had intended. "Wanting them to is another matter entirely."

With that, she closed the laptop. After another second, she stood up and walked to the edge of the balcony. The sun was just barely touching the edge of the ocean and the sky was every shade of orange imaginable.

She should have enjoyed the moment, having come so close to never seeing any sunsets ever again, but something was preventing her from taking any pleasure in the brilliant display.

There wasn't anyone there to share it with her.

And while the one person who would have appreciated having a bird's eye view on the setting sun was closer to her now than he had been for the whole long year of her recovery, he was still so very far away.

* * *

_New Mexico_

When Clint very nearly put his fist through his computer screen, he decided to take his anger to the training room.

As most of the staff of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s massive underground complex were at dinner, the room was blissfully empty. He tugged on a pair of protective gloves and walked to the nearest bench press. After loading up either end with weights, he sat down, lay back and grasped the bar.

Still, he couldn't work the image of Natasha out of his mind and it wasn't even the perfect curves of her breasts that had gotten him going. No, what had him really sweating was the way the sunlight had turned her hair into a waterfall of fire.

She'd grown it out. Had she done that just to torture him? Did she know how badly he wanted to lose his hands in those curls, even if they would only end up burning his fingers?

And yet she could just sit there and go on and on about Tony Fucking Stark in front of the man whose confession of love she had chosen to ignore.

Clint's face twisted as he strained to push the bar away from his chest. That one was on him, though. He hadn't pressed the issue, even when they'd gotten back in contact. He hadn't wanted to do anything that would slow down her recovery. And then he hadn't wanted to complicate her return to work. And then...and then...

There was always something.

"I shouldn't have to tell you that you shouldn't be doing this by yourself."

He opened his eyes only to see Agent Maria Hill standing over him. Rather than the sleek black uniform he'd only ever seen her wearing, she was clad in a pair of grey workout shorts and a white tank top. Her dark hair was braided over her shoulder.

"Give me a hand then," he said, gritting his teeth.

She reached out and took hold of the bar, helping him guide it back onto the rack. When the weight was gone, Clint let out a sigh.

"You're welcome," Maria sniped.

He slowly sat up. "Bad day?"

"Would you care if it was?"

Clint grabbed his gym towel and started mopping sweat from his neck and forehead. "Would you tell me if it was?"

Maria sat down at the leg press and put her feet against the bar. "I barely know you, Agent Barton."

Maybe a better man wouldn't have noticed her fabulous legs. Clearly, he wasn't one because it took him a full thirty seconds to realize he was staring at her thighs and calves as she worked out.

"Not much to know," he finally replied. "Nice talking to you, Hill."

"Hey!" she called out as he walked towards the exit. "I could use some help, too."

Clint counted to five before he turned back around. "Planning on hitting the bench press?"

"Maybe. But that isn't the only thing in here that requires a partner." Maria lowered her legs and gracefully stood up. She was just about his height. Just like Natasha. "Are you up for it?"

He looked back and forth between her eyes. "We are talking about the machines, right?"

"We don't have to be."

Clint blinked. He hadn't seen that one coming until it was right up in his face. He was losing his touch.

All of a sudden, Maria moved forward, grabbing him around the back of the neck and kissing him with enough force to compel him to grab her in return in order to keep from stumbling backwards. She took it as a sign of his agreement and the kiss grew deeper.

His mind and his body were screaming two very different things at him, but his body was in control for the moment. Her hands moved from his neck to his shoulders to his back...she was everywhere, touching every part of him that hadn't been touched in far too long.

She smelled like soap and laundry, a generically clean smell that was so far from Natasha's hint of exotic spice. Her body was thinner than Nat's, possessing almost none of her enticing curves. Still, he grasped her, pressed himself against her much to her pleasure.

It was only when they landed on the padded floor that Clint's mind overpowered his body. He drew back, gasping for air, and looked down at the woman beneath him.

It wasn't right. Yes, it felt good right then, but it wouldn't later when the haze of lust passed. Even if Natasha didn't love him, he was still in love with her. He couldn't even kiss another woman without comparing her to Nat; sex was out of the question. He might have been a killer, but he was determined not to be an asshole.

"I'm sorry," he told Maria. "I can't do this."

She looked down at the rather prominent bulge below his waist. "Really?"

"Never hold that against a guy." Clint sat back and watched her sit up. "You want to know me better, Agent Hill? Here you go." He paused. "I'm in love with someone who's decided not to be in love with me."

Maria touched her swollen lips. "Love usually isn't a decision. It's either there or it's not."

"Well, then...I guess it's not." His throat closed up for a second. "At least not for her."

"I'm still not seeing why this means we can't finish what we started."

"Do you really want to be with someone who will be thinking about someone else?"

After a moment, she shook her head. "I figured you'd be like the others." She half-smiled. "I was almost hoping you would be."

"Ten years ago, I was." Clint stood up and offered her his hand. "Sorry to disappoint."

"I'm not totally disappointed, Agent Barton." Maria picked up her gym towel. "If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me."

Tony Stark wouldn't have said no. He consoled himself with this fact after Maria was gone. In this regard, at least, he was the better man.

* * *

_Los Angeles_

"How did he take it?"

On the other side of the town car, Nick Fury snorted. "I think you bruised his ego."

"Every word of that report is true." Outside the windows, the city streets gave way to rocky desert landscape. "He's not the man for the job."

"Then who is?" the director asked her. "Banner? Hawkeye? You?" Natasha looked away. "I need a team and a team needs a leader. He could be that leader."

"Iron Man could. Not Tony Stark."

Fury studied her. "Did something happen between the two of you that I should know about?"

She fixed him with a cool look. "I'm going to forget that you asked that, sir."

"I'm serious, Agent Romanoff."

"So am I."

A second passed before Fury sat back against the leather seat. "I saw you put in a request for the Moscow job." She inclined her chin. "That's a deep undercover assignment."

"I speak the language and I know the culture." Natasha glanced out the window. "It's not much of a stretch."

Fury's good eye watched her closely. "I figured you'd want a transfer to New Mexico."

"Do you need me in New Mexico?"

"We might. Especially now."

"I'll go where you tell me to go," she said evenly. "But I'll do a better job in Moscow."

He leaned forward again and she braced herself for whatever came next. "I make it a habit not to care about the personal lives of my agents, but when those personal lives start to affect the job..."

She whipped her head around and swiftly cut him off. "With all due respect, sir, you're leaping to a conclusion that is way off base."

"Am I?"

"You are."

Fury nodded. "All right, then." He reached into his jacket and withdrew an envelope. "Here's your new identity. You'll be briefed on the job when you arrive in Russia." He waited for her to take it before he went on, "I expect you to be ready, though. When this thing comes together, I want you to be a part of it."

"Have I ever let you down?"

"Nope," he had to admit. "Not yet."

Ten hours later, she was halfway around the world. And in the deserts of New Mexico, Clint was guarding a hammer no one could lift. Neither of them had any idea that the next time they met, it would be in combat...and that thanks to a petty god, they wouldn't be on the same side.

* * *

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me.

Author's Notes: Thank you so much for the amazing support and kindness! A reviewer asked how long this story would be; I'm estimating one more chapter after this, but I never really know for sure;) I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Remembering Budapest

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_New York_

_May 2012_

His mouth was warm; his lips surprisingly soft. He was kissing her...Clint was kissing her.

And it was far better than she ever imagined.

She wanted to give in to it, to let him keep on kissing her until it became impossible to tell where she ended and he began, but it was too much. Her body had reached its limit and her senses were already overloaded.

Natasha's hands shot out, pushing at his chest with enough force to send him stumbling back. As soon as the kiss was broken, she regretted her actions, but it was too late.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

The look in his eyes was almost unbearable. Fortunately, it was gone a second later as his face relaxed into a blank mask of indifference.

"Clearly nothing you want." His voice was just as cool as his expression. "Forgive me."

Her cheeks felt hot. "I didn't say..."

"No, but I got the message. Again."

"Again?" Natasha shook her head. "What does that mean?"

He took his time answering. "It means that there's only so many times you can take a risk, Nat, before it becomes masochism." He rubbed his chest where her hands had made contact. "Budapest might have been the first time I told you I loved you, but it damn sure wasn't the only time I showed it."

Her heart was pounding all of a sudden. "Clint..."

Clint held up his hand for her to stop. "Let me just say this so I can walk away knowing I put all my cards on the table, okay?" He didn't wait for her to agree; he just pushed on. "When you were my target, I studied you for weeks. That's how it works, you know that. I watched you...memorized everything I could about you. Where you went, what you ate, how you dressed. Every day I told myself that I would do it the next day. But then I'd see you...and something would change my mind. You'd be reading a book and I told myself I should let you finish it. Or you'd toss a coin to a beggar and I'd give you another day in return."

Natasha stared at him as he went on, "Eventually, it got to the point where I couldn't even load up my bow. That's when I contacted Fury. I strong-armed him into letting me take you into custody instead; I told him I'd take full responsibility for you, but that I believed you could be an asset." He looked her straight in the eye. "And I was right."

"You saved my life," she murmured.

In more than one way.

"Don't give me any credit. It wasn't an attack of conscience. I did it because I had feelings for you. And they weren't exactly innocent." Clint's brow furred. "Yeah...I was that much of an asshole."

"You're not..."

Again, he cut her off. "I wasn't ever going to tell you, but then Budapest happened and you were lying there...dying..." He plunged his hand into his hair as if he could wipe the memory away. "And you asked me why I'd spared you." He lifted his muscular shoulders. "I couldn't lie anymore. I couldn't let our last words be a lie."

Natasha couldn't think of anything to say, but her silence was the worst possible response she could have had.

"So. Here's what'll happen next." His voice echoed around the ruined street. "No one wants me back at S.H.I.E.L.D. I killed too many people." Clint rushed on before she could protest, "I can't just pick up where I left off and act like it never happened, but I refuse to spend the rest of my career trying to atone for something that wasn't my fault."

She should have tried harder to kill Loki. There was still time before Thor took him back to Asgard. But how did one kill a demi-god?

"If you want to join the Initiative, I'll tell Stark to count me out. But if you don't want in, then I'll stick with them. Either way is fine with me." Clint gave her a second to think. "Natasha?"

"Nat." He frowned. "Nat," she repeated. "Did you know that you're the only person I let call me that?" She took a step towards him. "Do I look like the kind of girl who appreciates nicknames?"

"You won't have to tolerate it anymore," he promised.

"Is this the part where I'm supposed to beg you to reconsider?" Natasha put her hands on her hips. "You do realize that I lost a pint and a half of blood in Budapest, right? Even if I remembered anything past getting shot, do you really think I was in the right state of mind to process it?"

Clint rubbed at the stubble on his jaw. "I just tried to kiss you and you nearly knocked me on my ass. Did I misinterpret that?"

She shook her head back and forth. "All that time you were studying me, you didn't learn the first thing about me." Her tone grew dark. Dangerous. "I've never believed in love. At best, it's a fairy tale for children; at worst, it's a tool you use to get what you want. I grew up without it and it never bothered me. I was fine. Do you get that, Clint? I didn't want it!"

"I get it." He chuckled bitterly. "Say no more."

Natasha's stomach dropped when Clint turned around and started walking away. As the distance between them grew greater, the battle inside her head turned into a full-out war. She could still feel the heat of his kiss, smell the scent of his skin...and she wanted more. Much more. She wanted everything.

But she had no idea how to ask for it.

* * *

Every step he took away from her should have made him feel better, but it was as if there was a weight pressing on his heart and it grew heavier with the more space Clint put between them.

At least he was walking away without regrets. Well, maybe only one...that he would never know what it felt like to be loved by Natasha Romanoff. But in that respect, at least, he would be no different than any other man who had ever known her.

Cutting himself out of her life might end up being the best thing for both of them. Maybe he would find someone who didn't know a hundred ways to kill a man with the heel of her stiletto. Someone who would love him back, have his babies, grow old with him.

He just feared that faceless woman would never live up to the one who'd come before her.

Out of nowhere, something hit him from behind. When he felt himself pitching forward, he tucked his body into a ball and tumbled into a somersault, popping back up a second later to face his attacker. Clint reached behind his back only to realize that he'd left his bow and quiver in Stark's limousine.

As it turned out, that was a good thing. Natasha stood in front of him, her magnificent chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

"You're walking away?" she hissed. "After you dumped all of that on me, you're just going to disappear?"

"You'd rather I stuck around and forced us to deal with each other every day? 'Cause that sounds like so much fun, Natasha."

Her eyes narrowed. "Nat."

"Are you joking?" He stared at her in utter confusion. "What the hell do you want from me?"

She covered the distance between them before he could blink. "I don't know." Natasha's breath was hot against his mouth as she grasped his head in her hands. "I don't know!" He closed his eyes when she brushed her lips across his. "This..." The second kiss was deeper; her tongue darted out to tease his. "You..." One hand slipped down his chest as their mouths melded. "Us," she whispered.

Hearing that was all he needed. Without breaking their kiss, he seized her by the hips and hauled her up against his body. Her arms wound around his neck and her legs wrapped around his waist as he lifted her up, needing to feel every inch of her.

Their lips parted a minute later and she looked down at him. "I didn't want it." Clint buried his face in the fragrant nape of her neck, causing her throw her head back. "I didn't want it...but I need it," Natasha panted. She dropped her chin and kissed him again, madly, frantically. "I need you, Clint."

He'd always imagined making love to her for the first time on some secluded tropical beach or in a five-star hotel room in Paris, but an abandoned apartment building with only minor damage turned out to be just as good.

Maybe even better.

* * *

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me.

Author's Notes: I really can't say enough how much I appreciate the response to this story. Thank you a million times over:)

* * *

Remembering Budapest

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_The guards who dragged Clint into the empty medical exam room insisted on putting him in restraints._

_"It's for your own protection, ma'am," one of them told her. The kid very nearly found out what her boot felt like slamming into his groin. "Do you want us to stay outside?"_

_"No," she dismissed them with a jerk of her head towards the door. "Leave us alone."_

_Clint was still unconscious from the tremendous blow she'd delivered to his head via railing. In the small bathroom, she soaked a washcloth in cool water and brought it back to him. _

_His forehead, his cheeks, his neck, his arms...she bathed them all while he lay still. It was only when she set the cloth aside that he started moving. _

_At first it was just muscle spasms. His leg would jerk or his mouth would twitch. She stood over him, watching, waiting for the moment when his eyes would open. She needed to see them, to make sure the ice-blue of Loki's influence was gone. _

_"Nat..." _

_She blinked when he groaned her name. "Clint?" His head lolled to one side, but his eyes stayed closed. "Can you hear me?" _

_"Don't do it." Fresh sweat dotted his forehead. "Don't do it, Nat...please." _

_She reached out to touch his cheek, but stopped herself just before she made contact. "Clint, wake up," she ordered him. "I need you to wake up." _

_But instead, he tried to sit up. His chin touched his chest as he heaved the upper half of his body off the elevated exam table. He fought against the restraints around his wrists for several long, painful seconds before he slumped back down. _

_"Don't do it," he repeated, panting for breath. "Don't die, Nat...please..." His pale face crumpled. "Don't leave me." _

_"Clint," she whispered. "Where are you?" All of a sudden, her chest began to ache with a two year-old memory. "Budapest?"_

_"Don't forget. I don't want you to forget!" _

_She actually gasped when his eyes flew open. Stormy blue, almost grey...the same eyes she always saw when she thought about the time she'd nearly died. Her shoulders relaxed. _

_He was Clint again. _

_Her Clint. _

_She frowned. Yes, he was her Clint. He'd always been her Clint. Why was she still fighting that? _

_He looked around as much as he could. "Nat?"_

_"Yeah." She smiled before she could stop herself. "It's me." _

_She watched him watching her, like he was afraid she was just another trick of Loki's. _

_"Your hair..." He tried to reach for a strand, but the restraints stopped him. "You cut it." When she couldn't think of anything to say, Clint looked up at the ceiling. "What happened?" _

_She wanted to ask him the same thing. What had happened two years earlier? What did he want her to remember? _

_What had she forgotten? _

_But she just started to fill him in on the events of the past few days. There would be time, she told herself. One way or another, she would get him to talk about Budapest._

* * *

Although the nights she dreamed about the past were becoming few and far between, there were still days when Natasha emerged from sleep, gasping for breath.

On that particular morning, the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was the sleek muscles of her lover's back. Usually, she slept in the safety of his arms, but sometime during the night, she'd spooned up against him, and it was her arm that was draped over his waist.

They'd forgotten to close the curtains the night before; sunlight filtered into the massive studio loft that took up almost the entire 51st floor of Tony Stark's monument to himself that had, in the past six months, somehow become a second home to their small group of super-human misfits.

Even though Stark had given her a similar apartment on the 53rd floor, Natasha barely ever used it. She suspected Stark knew that. Probably Bruce did, too. The Cap, however, was either blissfully naive or blessedly discreet, for as he lived on the 52nd floor, it was highly likely that he'd seen her climbing up and down the side of the building at least once, as she didn't use the elevator in case Stark went over the surveillance logs. Thor was never around enough to notice anything.

Natasha was quiet for a few minutes after waking as she enjoyed feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of her boyfriend's back against her cheek. Eventually, though, the lingering memories of her dreams compelled her to press a kiss against his warm skin.

"Clint?" she murmured.

"Hmm," was all the reply she got.

She scooted up the bed a few inches in order to kiss the back of his neck. "Do you ever wonder if Stark has this whole place rigged with hidden cameras?"

A second passed. "Well, I sure as hell do now." She laughed as Clint turned himself around onto his other side to face her. "If you wanted to wake me up, Nat, there are better ways."

"You aren't bored with my usual methods?" He answered her with a long, slow kiss. "Good to know," she said when they broke apart.

Clint pushed himself up onto his elbow at the same moment she half-rolled onto her back. Looking down at her, he combed his fingers through her tangle of red curls before kissing her again. "Did you sleep?"

"A little." He gave her a look. "Not much," she confessed. Without even thinking about it, her fingers found the round scar below her right collarbone. "I wish I dreamed about...I don't know...stupid things. Dancing cows or...talking flowers or something. Whatever normal people dream about." She shook her head. "Not things that actually happened."

"Nat, honey." Clint moved her fingers out of the way in order to touch his lips to the scar. "We aren't normal. The things we see on an average day are the things other people see in their nightmares."

Natasha drew in a breath when his mouth moved lower and found the center of her breast. "What did you dream about?"

"This," he replied with a grin.

She pushed her hands into his hair, guiding his head so that he had to look back up at her. "Honest answer," she told him.

"Honest answer?" Clint cleared his throat he straightened back up. "I don't remember my dreams when you're here with me."

Natasha frowned. "Don't be adorable. I'm really asking."

"And I'm really answering." He gave her another soft kiss. "When I have you here and I can touch you and I know that you're alive and safe...that's when I sleep without nightmares."

Her throat closed up. "And...when did you figure that out?"

"Six months ago." Clint traced her full lower lip with the calloused tip of his finger. "The night after the battle, I figured I'd never get Loki out of my dreams. But then I woke up and it was morning..." He kissed her. "And you were lying in my arms. Didn't take a genius to figure that one out."

The words that had so often been on the tip of her tongue, but that she had never been able to vocalize, suddenly came tumbling out.

"I love you, Clint."

He stared at her for several long seconds, enough time so that she started to wonder if maybe she'd sent him into shock, but not long enough so that she regretted saying it.

She would never, could never regret that. It was the truth. It had been the truth for a lot longer than she would ever admit, not because she didn't want it to be true, but because she was ashamed that it had taken her head so long to catch up with her heart.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to hear you say that."

Natasha smiled. "Since Budapest?"

Instead of replying, Clint kissed her again, only this time it wasn't short and sweet. As they kissed, she raised her knee beneath the sheets, silently offering him what they both desperately wanted.

He chuckled against her lips as he stroked her inner thigh. "Aren't you worried about hidden cameras?"

She shook her head against the pillows. "I sweep the whole place for foreign electronics every..." She gasped in pleasure as his fingers dipped into the center of her body. "...every couple of weeks."

Clint's chuckle turned into a laugh and a warm shiver ran down her spine. "That's my girl."

* * *

Fin

A/N: Clint and Natasha will return in an as-yet-unnamed Captain America fic. Hope you'll keep an eye out for it;)


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